A Fallen Angel
by Haeharmaiel
Summary: In which Frodo struggles, and Samwise comes to a realisation. Slash F/S and some F/M from Chapter 3 on. ~*Parts 4 and 5 added*~
1. Part One

A Fallen Angel

By Haeharmaiel

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E-mail: Haeharmaiel@aol.com

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Rating: PG-13

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Paring: Frodo/Sam

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Disclaimer: I don't own the charecters, places, and so son. All belong to Tolkien Estate and others. Not mine.

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Author's Notes: This is set pre-Quest. It's book and movie based, as are most of my fics. Fluff ahoy.

Part One

In the homely, if a little disorganised and cluttered kitchen of Bag End, the kettle on the stove steamed and whistled. Biting his lip in concentration, Frodo poured the boiling liquid into two large cups, careful not to spill any on the table. He set the kettle down on its stand and stirred the tea absently, lost in his own thoughts, mesmerised by the sound of the teaspoon clinking against each rim. Picking up the cups, he took them to the parlour, where a very subdued Sam was sitting in his usual chair, pulled up close to the fire. Frodo sat opposite him, and wordlessly handed him a teacup.

"Thank you, sir," Sam muttered. A long, pregnant silence ensued, in which Frodo could very nearly hear Sam seething.

After an eternity, Frodo took it upon himself to break the tense silence that threatened to reign all night if something was not done.

"Sam." The sandy-haired Hobbit looked up at the sound of his name, but rather unusually, he said nothing and ducked his head, staring into the murky tea as though it could explain everything.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Frodo ventured further. Sam continued to stare resolutely into the cup, his fingers gripping it so tightly the knuckles turned white. He looked up at Frodo and met his gaze, his bottom lip trembling a little as he did so. He spoke in a low, hushed tone.

"It's nothing, Mr. Frodo. Nothing really. It's just…" 

Frodo nodded encouragingly, holding his breath, waiting, wishing, trying to ignore the way the firelight flickered across Sam's face, trying not to lose himself in those hazel eyes. Trying to remember when he had first realised he was in love with Samwise Gamgee. Sam took a deep, steadying breath, bringing Frodo back to reality.

"Rosie and I…we've – well, I suppose you might say we've had something of an argument, sir." A spasm of pain crossed Sam's face at this revelation, and he rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

A strange sensation shot through Frodo; his heart ached terribly to see Sam like this. Sam rarely showed it when he was upset, so to see him moved to tears like this, over **her**, was a grim implication indeed. But even as Frodo loathed seeing Sam like this, his stomach gave a little jolt as he realised that this might just be the glimmer of hope he had been longing for, for what felt like forever. _'Will he tell me? Do I want to know?' _Frodo wondered. _'If he won't tell me, dare I ask?'_

He didn't need to give the prospect of questioning Sam further. His companion continued, his reluctance to discuss the matter seemingly forgotten.

"We seemed to be gettin' along fine, Mr. Frodo, just fine. But then she started to fuss. She was always badgering me, and she was always **there**. I couldn't go anywhere without seeing her." Sam looked startled. "Not that I don't want to see her of course," he hastened, "but sometimes I need to be on my own, with my plants and so on. It's partly why I love working at Bag End so much, if you follow me. And Rose…well, she doesn't like me hearin' all these stories about Elves and the like sir. Seems to think I'll go getting' ideas."

Frodo opened his mouth to object, but Sam carried on regardless. "Not that she has no respect for you of course Mr. Frodo, but after Mr. Bilbo left and all, she worries. She saw what it did to you, and it put ideas in her head, I reckon."

Frodo shivered, remembering that winter after Bilbo had left. Fending for himself in a cold, empty house had taken its toll on him. He had never felt so lonely. _'I don't know how it would have been if it wasn't for Sam.' _He had been the only thing to keep Frodo going through those dark evenings and bitterly cold days. Sam had visited him whenever he could, and had always made sure that Frodo was eating, and not "stayin' up all night porin' over those old books."

Sam heaved a deep sigh. "So it all built up like that. One little argument after the other, until I go to see her and she's all cold with me, actin' like I'm hardly there, spendin' all her time talking to that oaf Ted Sandyman. It's like – it's like she doesn't love me anymore, Mr. Frodo." Sam's voice cracked, and unable to contain it anymore, he burst into tears, his broad shoulders shaking with every heartbroken sob.

Frodo sprang from his chair and was at Sam's side in an instant, putting his arms around Sam and pulling him into a comforting embrace. Sam tensed at first, unsure of how to react to this kind of contact from his master. But he settled into the hug, and let himself cry onto Frodo's shoulder, as Frodo patted Sam's back reassuringly, and told him that "everything would be fine," "it will all work out in the end," and feeling like a scoundrel because in his heart of hearts, he did not wish it to be so.

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Later on that evening, Frodo walked Sam to the door to see him out. Sam had stopped crying after a while, and had seemed so melancholy that it was even worse than seeing him break down and cry. He seemed resigned, almost as though he was now willing to accept the circumstances, against all of his hopes and his better judgement. 

As he turned to leave, he looked Frodo right in the eye, which Frodo found somewhat unnerving and yet so perfectly natural at the same time. 

"Thank you Mr. Frodo," he said quietly. "I'm sorry that I did that back there. I don't mean to do it again." He bowed his head and stared at the floor, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"Sam…it's quite alright." Frodo hesitated, then leant his hand comfortingly on Sam's shoulder. "This is what friends are for, Sam. I'm sure you'd do the same for me." Even as he said it he felt the usual pang of regret that inevitably followed after these kind of sentences. Sam **would** so the same for him, but it would not comfort him. It would only make Frodo feel even worse.

"That I would, Mr Frodo." Sam looked up at the other Hobbit. "D'you remember, Mr. Frodo, when my Ma used to tell me stories?"

Frodo gave a soft laugh as he recalled it. "Of course I do Sam. She used to tell you about angels."

"That's right."

"Why, I even recollect when you first heard of them. You came running in to see us when your Da had finished work, to ask us if we knew anything else." 

Sam nodded, and gave a weak, watery smile. "She said that angels were spirits, sent by the Valar to help the people of Middle Earth. They walk among us unseen, but they're always there."

Frodo returned Sam's smile wistfully. "You were enchanted."

"Aye, I was." Sam sighed. "I always believed it you know. Always. But I don't now, Mr Frodo. That's all they were; just stories. There's no one there watchin' out for me." He nodded in farewell, and walked away, shoulders hunched against the chilly breeze, leaving Frodo standing in the doorway alone.


	2. Part Two

Part Two

The next day dawned crisp and clear, an almost perfect Blotmath day. Frost covered the ground in a sparkling carpet, and the limbs of the trees, bare but elegant nonetheless, stretched upwards into a washed, pale blue sky. Frodo opened the bedroom window and allowed the cold, fresh air to rush in. He listened intently for the sounds of Sam working. But he couldn't hear anything. Even in the winter Sam had something to do in the garden, and Frodo had grown so used to Sam's presence all year round that today's apparent absence unsettled him greatly. Frowning thoughtfully, he shut the window again, and made his way to the kitchen in search of breakfast.

Frodo found some bread and butter in the pantry, and also noted that apart from those items, the pantry was rather empty. He began to toast the bread, glancing surreptitiously out of the window every now and again, checking for Sam. But he did not appear, and by mid-morning, Frodo was beginning to worry. What could have possibly happened to Sam? He was usually up at the crack of dawn, and at Bag End not long after. Each morning he would join Frodo for a cup of tea before he set about doing his work. Sometimes Frodo thought that Sam's morning visits must be the only reason he got up in the morning.

Suddenly resolved, Frodo decided to go and look for Sam, and check he was all right. He had been so distraught last night that Frodo was beginning to worry about him. He pulled on his thick woollen coat and cloak over to top to protect him from the wind's bitter chill. Then he swung the heavy door of Bag End open, and stepped outside.

Walking down the gravel lane to Bagshot Row, Frodo began to curse his overactive imagination, which had started to come up with various reasons why he had not yet seen Sam. Complicated scenarios involving illness, injury and pain flickered through his mind, each one worse than the last. _'Stop it, you're just overreacting,' _he mentally berated himself. _'So what if Samwise didn't turn up this morning? He might not have wanted to! He might not have anything to do in the garden He might be feeling unwell. Unless…unless he's avoiding you.' _Frodo shook his head vigorously to dispel that thought. Sam valued his friendship, he was sure of it. Just because he had showed some kind of emotion last night, it did not mean…or did it? Sam **had** apologised for crying. Maybe he thought he couldn't face Frodo again, because he'd overstepped his mark. _'Maybe he felt ashamed.'_

But Frodo had no more time left to ponder at such things. He had arrived at Sam's house. Taking a deep breath, he knocked briskly on the yellow door, and waited. A few moments later, pretty young Hobbit lass opened the door. She was wearing a simple green checked dress, with a well-worn apron tied around it. Her curly brown hair was secured into two pigtails. She had rosy cheeks and warm brown eyes. She blinked in surprise when she realised who the visitor was.

"Oh! Hello Mr. Baggins!" she exclaimed, smiling at him. 

"Good Morning, Miss Gamgee," he replied politely, trying and failing to return the smile. "Is Samwise there please?"

Daisy's bright smile vanished. "Well…no, he isn't, I'm afraid. We thought that he'd gone to see you, yesterday evening, and stayed over."

"He did visit me, but he went home, and he didn't turn up this morning."

"Well, I'm right sorry, Mr. Baggins. It's not like our Sam to be missin' work like that."

Frodo felt a little exasperated. "Well, it isn't the work I'm worried about, Miss Daisy. I was worried about Sam. I just wanted to make sure he was well. But if he didn't return home last night…"

Daisy's eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Did anything happen last night?"

"He was…a little upset about something," Frodo replied evasively, reluctant to talk about it. 

"Ah. Well, knowin' Sam he'll have gone off somewhere to sort things out. But I would've thought he'd go back to work."

Frodo frowned and glanced around edgily, half-expecting Sam to turn up at any moment. Sensing his concern, Daisy Gamgee patted Frodo's shoulder sympathetically. "Don't you worry, sir. He'll turn up, and when he does, I'll send him straight to you." 

"Thank you. Tell him that - " There were so many things Frodo wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell Sam that his friendship was like a ray of sunlight in his life, that Sam was the only person that could truly make him laugh, or smile. That Sam was his inspiration for everything he did. That seeing Sam like that last night had nearly broken his heart, and that he need not love Rosie. If he would just love Frodo, he'd never weep again, for his love would be returned unconditionally. "Tell him that I was here to check that he was feeling well. I wasn't worried about the garden, I was worried about him."

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Sam woke suddenly, as one does when they find themselves somewhere they don't expect to be. He sat bolt upright, and quickly took in his surroundings. He was lying in a bed in a room he did not recognise immediately. A small fireplace was opposite him, and except for a chair by the window, the room was otherwise unadorned. Sam got up and found he was wearing a nightshirt that he did not remember putting on, and that his clothes were neatly folded on the chair. He dressed hurriedly, wondering where he could be, and just as he turned to leave, the door swung open. Young Tolman Cotton strode in.

"Morning Sam!" he exclaimed, grinning widely. "Hope you had a good night's sleep." Sam frowned in puzzlement, trying to remember just what happened last night. He remembered going to Bag End, of course. He remembered shaming himself by crying in front of Mr. Frodo. But after that…

"I found you at The Ivy Bush," Young Tom explained, unknowingly answering Sam's question. "In quite a state, might I add. Anyway, I brought you back here, rather than send you all the way home."

Sam sunk down onto the bed and groaned, putting his head in his hands. He must have shown himself up, not to have been able to go home like that. If Tom had brought him back here, he will have had a good reason. 

Sam's head snapped up in realisation. If Tom was here, then he must be – 

"Rosie!" he whispered. Tom's grin broadened. "Aye, she's here, Sam lad. She was worried sick about you, I can tell you. She's with Ma in the kitchen." He stepped aside so that Sam could exit. "You watch what you say to her though. She's may have been fussing over you this morning, but she hasn't forgotten. Well, go on!" he motioned for Sam to leave.

Sam plodded through to the kitchen, his insides twisting with apprehension and nerves. Rosie made him rather tongue-tied at the best of times. What was he to do now? 

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When he arrived home, Frodo briefly debated making some second breakfast. Or perhaps he could continue with that Elvish translation he had never quite finished after Bilbo left…A small envelope lying on the doormat caught his eye. Stooping down, he picked it up and carefully slit it open. It was a letter from Meriadoc. Expecting the usual, slightly rambling letter full of family news and the like, Frodo was surprised to find that it was just to tell him that Merry would be visiting Hobbiton in about a week's time, and was looking forward to seeing his cousin. _'I think I should be glad of a little company,' _Frodo mused as he went to the study. But he found it in complete disarray as usual, freezing cold and unusually unwelcoming. He turned away from the door, and went to his left, heading for the master bedroom.

The door creaked open and he stepped into the warmth, congratulating himself on his previous decision to add a couple more logs to the fire before he went out. He shut the door with a soft click, and leaned against it, resting his head on the smooth, warm wood. A sudden wave of overwhelming fatigue washed over him, and he swayed, nearly falling over. 

Frodo padded to the large bed and crawled under the eiderdown. He curled up miserably on his side, and let himself slip into the usual thoughts about Sam. He felt a pang when he thought about Sam's disappearance, and he clutched at the quilt, agitated.

His mind began to wander, and soon he was dozing off, semi-concious of his surroundings, half in and half out of sleep and dreams. This was really the only way he could manage it; the gnawing guilt that raged inside him in bleak protest against his feelings – his **wrong** feelings – for Sam. Sleep was a haven, like an island in the midst of a stormy, choppy Sea. How he wished he could spend all of his time there. Because when he's hovering between consciousness and slumber, he feels content. Dreams aren't always just dreams. They feel **real** at that point, as real as the sun shining on the green patchwork quilt of fields in the Shire, or the Water flowing steadily through the Mill. In the hazy world he's suspended in, Sam feels the same. Sam's there, right next to him, his soft breath tickling Frodo's hair, and his heart beating steadily in his chest as he sleeps.

Frodo became dimly aware of the stuffiness of the room, and he turned over and pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to one side. Burrowing back into the nest of covers, he rested his head on the feather pillow and fell into a deep sleep.

About an hour and a half later, Frodo woke abruptly for seemingly no reason. He sat bolt upright, feeling rather flushed and warm. Then he realised what had roused him – the doorbell was ringing somewhat insistently. He scrambled out of bed and hastily grabbed his shirt. Then, he hurried through the smial to the front door, struggling to turn the shirt the right way round, and find which sleeve was which, and where his head should go, all at the same time.

By the time he reached the doorway, his shirt was half on, half off. His left arm had managed to be manoeuvred into the appropriate sleeve, but the right sleeve seemed to be escaping him rather too cunningly for an item of clothing. The visitor then began to knock, and Frodo flung the door open.

Samwise Gamgee was stood in a pool of wintry sunlight before him, and Frodo could tell that he was nervous just by his stance. But when the door had opened, Sam had started suddenly, looking Frodo up and down, taking in the tangled shirt and the tousled hair. His cheeks turned pink. Frodo felt himself colour too, and clutched the shirt to his chest, partly out of modesty, and partly to keep away the biting cold.

"S-s-sorry Mr. Frodo sir," Sam stammered, abashed. He looked as awkward as Frodo felt. "I was just here to apologise for not turnin' up earlier." He lowered his gaze, staring resolutely at the doorstep. 

Frodo had to force himself to reply as nonchalantly as he could. "That's quite all right Sam, I was just a bit concerned about you. Come in, won't you? It's no use us standing out here in the cold."

He stepped aside and gestured for Sam to enter. They went to the parlour together, and Sam settled himself down on the same chair he had occupied just last night. Frodo excused himself for a moment, and returned – properly dressed – to sit down beside Sam.

There was an awkward pause, and then Sam cleared his throat self-consciously. "Well sir, I'm right sorry for being late."

"It's **fine** Sam," Frodo couldn't help but sound a little exasperated. "As I said, I was just worried about you."

Sam smiled, and it warmed Frodo's heart a little to see it. "Well, there's naught to worry about Mr. Frodo. I…erm – I had a few problems last night, after I left, but it all turned out for the best. I saw Rose this morning, and I told her exactly how I felt."

Frodo's heart seemed to stop beating and his breath seemed to stick in his throat before he managed to croak, "What did you say to her?"

A sudden, almost absurdly loud knock prevented Sam from speaking further. Smiling apologetically, Frodo exited and opened the door. A grinning Merry was on the doorstep, accompanied by a similarly cheerful Pippin.

"Frodo!" Merry cried, and he flung his arms around him in a hug, only to be pulled away by Pippin, who claimed he was not to miss his turn.

"What are you doing here? You're early!" Frodo cried, looking his cousins up and down. Pippin had grown at least three inches since Frodo had last seen him, and his hair was glossy in the morning sun. But he seemed different somehow. Thinner around the face maybe. His cheekbones were now more defined, and his green eyes sparkled with the promise of mischief. _'I suppose young Peregrin has all of the lasses of Tuckborough after him with those looks,' _Frodo thought a little wistfully. _'It almost proves that there might be a little fairy blood in the Tooks.' _

"Why, we're hear to see our favourite cousin!" Merry exclaimed. "It's been a while, Frodo. Well, are you going to let us in?" Blinking in surprise, an extremely bewildered Frodo stepped aside to let his cousins in.


	3. Part Three

Part Three

Merry and Pippin's presence was like a blessing to Sam. It wasn't that he didn't want to be around Mr. Frodo of course, far from it, but somehow, he mused, it was as though their friendship – if he could be as presumptuous as to call it that – had changed lately. This change has left Samwise feeling vaguely unsettled, and troubled him every night when he walked home to Bagshot Row in the dusk.

However, in his cousins' company, Frodo had cheered up a little. He was less prone to the melancholy moods of late, and he laughed a lot more. Sam loved to hear his master laugh. It was as though once he started laughing, it might carry on forever, crystal clear syllables sparkling with merriment floating through the air until silence was but a memory. 

The pair had been at Bag End but a week, and already they had settled in. The night of their arrival had been a good one; Sam had insisted on cooking a large meal for them, and in turn, Frodo had insisted that Sam join them for it. The initial feelings of unease at being around the future master of Buckland, the heir to the Thainship, and Frodo Baggins soon evaporated, with the help of Merry and Pippin's laid back air, and a few mugs of ale. Sam found himself more at home in Bag End than he had been for months, and he was glad of it.

And so, the days went by. The Shire was graced with crisp, clear, frost covered days, with hardly a cloud in the sky to veil the pale sun. The nights were indescribably beautiful; the sky was like an ink blue velvet canvas, set with an array of perfect diamonds.

It was on such a night that Sam found himself walking home from the Green Dragon, feeling warm despite the bitter wind, and altogether content. The moon was full, and it was glowing so brightly that Sam almost supposed dawn must have arrived early. He paused to admire the silver orb, watching as a wisp of grey cloud scurried across it. He sighed, watching his breath cloud before him and drift away into the night.

It was at that moment that he heard a low murmur, and an unmistakable laugh. Against his better judgement, Sam crept towards the sound, as quietly as he could.

__

'Samwise, you ninnyhammer! What are you doing? Spying on the master? It'll just get you into trouble.' But something in Sam's mind resisted that logic, and he carried on regardless. 

As he got closer, he was able to make out the words. He was caught, spell bound. It was Master Merry and Mr. Frodo, sat outside together. But there was a note to Frodo's voice, a certain timbre, that Sam had never, ever heard before. But he wanted to hear more of it.

"They are beautiful, aren't they?" Merry sighed, gesturing at the stars with the stem of his pipe.

"Yes," Frodo agreed. "It's on nights like this that I can bring myself to believe – **really** believe – the old stories. Of kindness and valour, and of spirits who walk Middle Earth, invisible to the mortal eye." Sam peered through the foliage of the bush that he was hiding behind, and he saw Merry smile.

"Ever the romantic, Frodo." 

Frodo laughed again. There was a silence between the cousins, that was broken a few moments later by Merry.

"Frodo, there's something I need to tell you." He sounded to serious that Frodo visibly tensed, still but for the breeze stirring his dark curls.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing. Everything. It's just…I have to tell you. If I didn't, I think I should burst. I know you won't accept it," he sighed, "but I have to tell you. At least, if I do, I can go home, and nurse my wounds and then maybe in a few years time, I shall be able to face you again."

Frodo looked slightly alarmed. "Well Merry, what is it?"

"I – I think I'm in love with you, Frodo."

Another silence, a shocked one. "I know, it's not right, it's not proper. It's not **natural** Frodo, I know this. But I've loved you ever since I met you, and now I'm older I think I'm in love with you. This week has been amazing. You're wonderful and I just…" he trailed off. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," Frodo whispered, "Don't ever apologise for your feelings Merry. We can't help the way we feel." He looked at his feet, prodding a blade of grass experimentally with his toe. Then he looked up at Merry. "I think I have feelings for you too." A slow smile crossed Merry's face, and he leaned closer, capturing Frodo in a soft, chaste kiss.

In the shrubbery, Sam felt his stomach plummet and his heart skip a beat all at the same time. He'd never, ever have thought of Merry and Frodo as being together like that. He reeled, shocked to the core at what he had just seen. Yet somewhere, deep down inside, something was telling him that is was right. And something was burning, a desperate, gnawing feeling that brought bile to his throat. But it couldn't be. He couldn't be jealous of Mr. Merry.

He crawled away, hoping he would not be heard, but he couldn't tell over the noise of his thoughts. He inhaled the painfully cold air, and let it out again. He began his way home, passing the gate to Bag End. 

There he saw Pippin, clutching at the gatepost, cloak flapping in the wind, with tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked like a fallen angel.


	4. Part Four

Part Four

"Won't you stay for dinner, Sam?" The invitation caught him completely off-guard. It had been three days since that night when Sam had seen…well, never mind what he had seen. 

"Well Mr. Frodo, I'm not sure, I – I think that - "

"Please?" Frodo looked at him imploringly. _'Oh, how can I refuse when he turns those eyes on me?' _Sam thought.

"I'd love to," he said hoarsely. Frodo gave him a bright smile and hurried back into the kitchen.

About an hour later, Sam was seated at the oak table in the kitchen opposite Frodo and next to Mr. Pippin, staring into his stew. He half wished that he had not accepted the offer of dinner, the evening had been so unbearable. Even as he thought this, he caught sight of Frodo and Merry's hands briefly touching as Frodo passed his cousin the jug of water. They looked up at each other and smiled a secret smile, between just the two of them. It was a smile that whispered things, promises of love and of things to come. 

Sam felt sick.

Looking over, he could see Pippin frowning and pushing his food around his plate, and not eating a bite, which was highly unusual. Keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the table in front of him, the young Hobbit almost inaudibly excused himself from the table, and trudged away. 

Merry frowned, puzzled, and looked over at Frodo, who shrugged. Suddenly, Sam knew he could no longer take it either. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but I think I ought to be leaving now as well."

"But Sam, you've only just started your st - "

"Thank you for a lovely dinner, sir. I'll see you in the morning."

"Sam, are you al-" Frodo was cut off as Merry put a restraining hand on his arm. Sam pushed his chair back and left.

Out in the garden, he released a breath he did not know he had been holding. Overhead clouds were gathering in the sky, threatening rain. Though he did not feel like returning home, Sam set off in that direction anyway, if only to give himself time. _'Time for what? So I can think about the way Mr. Frodo looked at Merry? So I can wonder what might have happened if only…'_

Then Sam caught sight of Pippin. He was sat on one of the benches in the garden of Bag End. Mr. Bilbo had always loved sitting on those benches, Sam remembered, a little wistfully. He had called that particular one his 'Thinking Seat', where he would retreat if he had a problem he needed to sort out.

Now Pippin was there, looking vacantly at the quickly darkening landscape. Sam approached him. "Are you alright, Mr. Pippin?"

Pippin looked up, a little surprised, and gave a laugh very unlike his own; it was harsh and bitter. "I'm as well as I have ever been, Sam. And you?"

"Oh, I don't know, sir," Sam said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I feel a little blurred at the moment, to be honest. Can't seem to sort myself out.

"I know how you feel," Pippin replied quietly. Sam took a chance, and sat himself next to Pippin. There was a pause. 

"I love him, you know," Pippin said suddenly. "More than as a cousin, I mean. I love everything about him. I love the way his golden curls catch the sunlight. I love his laugh…it's infectious you know Sam." A melancholy smile flitted across Pippin's features. "When Merry laughs, it's like the whole of Middle Earth laughs with him, if only to share in his happiness."

Sam sat very still, unsure of how to respond to Pippin's brave statement. "I didn't know you felt that way about Mr. Merry," he said slowly.

Pippin looked him straight in the eye. "You saw them that night, didn't you? You saw how close they were?"

Sam nodded. "That's what I want," Pippin continued. "I – I wish-" he choked, closing his eyes in a grimace. A silence washed over them, and they both seemed to relax, as though some sort of silent understanding had passed between them. After a while, Pippin opened his green eyes, and without tearing his gaze away from the rolling hills of The Shire, he said something that would turn Sam's world around once more. "Frodo loves you, you know."

Reeling, Sam attempted to stammer some sort of objection, but Pippin interrupted him. "His eyes light up when he talks about you, in a way I've never seen before," he described. "And if anyone mentions your name, he becomes instantly alert, I swear one can almost see his ears pricking up! When he looks at you Sam, you can see it. He'd do anything for you, do you know that?"

Sam said nothing. There was nothing he **could** say. Pippin was out of order, saying these things that were not true. But he kept quiet nonetheless.

"I may only be young, but I can see it as clear as day. And," Pippin turned to Sam, and looked him up and down, "I believe that you feel just the same about him."


	5. Part Five

Part Five

A/N: Many thanks to MeatLoaf for providing me with a soundtrack of inspiration for this part.

The rain clouds kept their promise. By eleven o'clock, the rain was pouring down in sheets.

Frodo was sat by the window of his bedroom in his dressing gown, watching rivulets of water trail down the pane, and thinking. What had been wrong with Sam earlier? The intensity of his concern had taken him quite by surprise, and had left him with an uncomfortable sensation. Sighing, Frodo picked up his mug of tea and sipped at it tentatively, lost in his thoughts. _'Of Sam,' _he admitted to himself.

A sudden snore jerked him out of his reverie – Merry was curled up under the eiderdown of Frodo's bed. Glancing momentarily at the sleeping figure, Frodo felt a pang of affection. He **was** fond of his cousin. _'I love him.' _

Suddenly, Frodo recalled what Merry had said to him that night _'I think I'm in love with you, Frodo.' _And he had reciprocated. But he had not mentioned love. He had talked about feelings. _'But am I honestly, truly **in** love with Merry?'_

He took another look at the bed. This time, he saw that Merry was curled tightly, a position that made him seem vulnerable, almost afraid. Looking more closely, Frodo could see that his brows were knitted together, and he tossed and turned as he slept. _'He has something on his mind,' _Frodo predicted grimly.

He turned back to the window, back to Sam. The rain had stopped. Gripped by sudden determination, and knowing what he must do, Frodo dressed hurriedly and went out into the night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He found Sam sitting damp and forlorn under a tree by the banks of the Water. Walking as lightly as he could, Frodo made his way over to his companion. As he neared, Sam sat up straighter, then got to his feet and turned around, only to find himself face to face with the one person he had just been thinking about, the one person he wanted to see so much, and yet didn't.

Frodo smiled inwardly as he saw shock and disbelief register on Sam's face. "Hello Sam."

"Mr. Frodo, what in all of Middle Earth are you doing out here at this time?" Sam cried, scandalised. Frodo gave a shrug. "I couldn't sleep." 

"Aren't you cold, sir?"

"Not really." Frodo sat himself down in the spot where Sam had been, and gestured for Sam to join him. He obliged, and seated himself on a clump of moss. Another of the long silences that Sam seemed to have grown so used to stretched out before them again. _'Oh, when did it get like this?' _Frodo asked himself._ 'Since when was it so hard just to **talk** to my best friend?' _ Deciding that there was nothing to lose, and that he had after all, come here for a purpose, Frodo took a deep breath. He felt as though he were balanced on the edge of a very high, very steep cliff, looking down. The ground seemed ever so far away.

He jumped.

"Sam…I've been wanting to talk to you about a few things that have been on my mind for a while now." Sam said nothing, just looked at Frodo with those patient, hazel eyes, waiting to hear what Frodo had to say.

"I suppose I'll have to start from the beginning, though I'm not even sure when the beginning begins, if you understand me." Frodo could feel himself blushing, but he carried on regardless. "I honestly don't know when it began. I don't remember when I first began to really notice the way you would stuff your hands in your pockets like you do when you're feeling nervous and on edge. I don't know when it first occurred to me that your eyes were a warm, clear hazel, or that on a chilly day when you're out in the garden, your cheeks turn that certain shade of pink. I can't remember a time when I haven't noticed these things. But what I do know is that I have left too much unsaid."

"I know now that I have to tell you. I have to forget all these hopes and dreams. I have to get everything out in the open, even if it means that you'll never want to see me again. I have to do it, Sam." He leaned closer, and took one of Sam's larger hands in two of his own. "I'm in love with you."

If it had not been Frodo who had just made such a startling admission, he would have laughed out loud at the look on Sam's face as his jaw dropped. 

"What about Mr. Merry?"

Frodo looked down, frowning. "I love him. He's my cousin. I wanted him, I needed him. Understand me Sam, I **needed** someone just to be there, just to love me. It was only a few days with him-"

"It felt like forever."

Frodo stopped, and looked curiously at Sam before carrying on. "It was only a few days, but I had someone there to love me, truly love me."

Sam began to protest, but Frodo silenced him with a look. "But I was never **in** love with him. I never felt the same way about him as I do about you." Frodo bit his lower lip so hard it brought tears to his eyes, though they probably would have come anyway. "I'll understand if you don't ever want to talk to me about anything more than the kitchen gardens and the sunflowers ever again."

"But I do. I will. Want to talk to you, I mean."

Frodo sighed. "Good. I'd like that." He hurriedly changed the subject. "What were you doing out here anyway?"

Now it was Sam's turn to blush. "Thinking."

"About what?" Frodo enquired, feeling almost reckless as he pushed the boundaries of this new agreement between them.

Sam looked at him. "You," he stated simply. Frodo inwardly commanded his heart to beat again. He racked his brain for some kind of reply, any kind, as long as it wasn't –

"I was talking to Mr. Pippin earlier," Sam said, looking almost earnest. "And he said a few things, a few plain simple truths, that got me thinking, and I realised…I realised…"

"What? What did you realise?" _'Please tell me Sam, please, **please**.'_

"I think I feel exactly the same way about you as you do about me."

Time slowed, and Frodo faltered, taken completely by surprise. The tables had turned, and he decided to ask.

"What about Rosie?"

"She's a nice lass. We get along well, though if truth be told, we might as well be betrothed. The Gaffer, he always had his eye on her for me, and I grew up knowing that. I grew up expectin' it. It was what was proper, Mr. Frodo. Me and Rosie, we're right. We're meant to get married, and have children, and do all those things Hobbits are meant to. But we're two rights making a wrong. I-I don't feel the same way about her as I do about you. I think Rosie is…well, she's courtesy, tradition. She's common Hobbit sense. But you, Frodo…you're," his cheeks reddened further, "passion, and starlight, and Elves, and moonlight on a clear evening."

"Oh do stop that Samwise, you're making me blush like a maid!"

Sam quietened. "Thank you," Frodo said. "No, not for stopping, but thank you for telling me. You have a chance to be a great gardener, Sam. You can have lads and lasses of your own, and a pretty wife to cook you dinner every night, and look after you when you come home from work. And when you're old you can sit in The Green Dragon, telling stories to the 'young 'uns' around you. Would you honestly give all of that up just for me?"


	6. Epilogue

Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to post!

This is for Karen, who might just need this Epilogue to make her…feeel goood.

Epilogue

The three of them stood by the gate of Bag End to say their last goodbyes before the cousins left Hobbiton. Once again, the sky was clear, and the sun shone down, warming the chilly air a little.

"Goodbye then, dear cousin." Frodo leaned towards Merry, and planted a kiss on his cheek, then reached out to ruffle his hair playfully. Merry grinned at him and clasped his hands. "You take care of yourself Frodo," he said, looking to the garden. Frodo followed his gaze, and as though sensing his master's attention, Sam looked up from his work and leaned on his hoe, shading his eyes against the bright sunlight. Raising his hand in farewell, he called "Goodbye, Mr. Merry. Hope you have a good journey," and returned to his work.

Merry waved back, and turned to Frodo once more. "You know where I'll be if you need me…" he trailed off as Frodo nodded, and Merry let go of his hands.

"Goodbye Frodo! Thanks ever so much for having us," Pippin said as he ambled over.

"It was a pleasure, dear cousin. You look after Merry."

"I will." Pippin turned to Sam and smiled at him. "Goodbye Sam!"

Sam looked up again, and his face relaxed into a warm smile. "Goodbye, Mr. Pippin. Thank you."

Pippin merely nodded an acknowledgement, and swung himself into the cart. 

"Ho, Pip! Wait for me!" Merry cried, and he sprinted across to his cousin, his best friend, and clambered up to sit beside him.

With a final chorus of goodbyes, they had departed, and Frodo looked at Sam again. The pool of sunlight created a halo, and Sam's white shirt seemed almost luminescent. A feeling of content welled up inside Frodo, and he climbed the steps from the gate to the garden, to the one person he loved most in the entire world. Sighing softly, he grabbed Sam's hand and twined their fingers together, happy because at long last, he had found his very own angel.


End file.
